I lately watched your video, a Palm Sunday morning show of you and your wife.

Me, your mistress, now ashes of passionate fires, forbidden fires.

Intention of sin in your ideology.

And then this scene of an innoscent couple, the ones who try to pretent what they aren't.

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The drunken dancer

and the temperance priest

whispering to each other

about a fiery affair of love

between the sun and moon,

and the emotional outburst

when the universe was born.

The priest he begs for

the drunk to desist,

but the drunk just mutters

obscenities under his breath

and calls for more.

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Music fades away when you arrive
Spreading the doom with every stride
The stare of hatred locked in your eyes
Sinister cravings behind sacred lies

You want me to beg
You want me to look
You want me to bend
And follow your rules

Judging from throne made out of gold
Taken from people that you control
Deep in your cave, the smell of decay
Surrounded by slaves, you feist on their brain

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